


If only it was that easy

by a_4_patch_problem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF John, Bottom!Lock, Cocaine, Confused John, Depressed Sherlock, Depression, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Heroin, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Angst, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Self Harm, Sexuality Crisis, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teen Sherlock, Teenlock, Underage Drug Use, Virgin Sherlock, bottomlock, depressed, top!John, topJohn, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_4_patch_problem/pseuds/a_4_patch_problem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes liked to view himself as smart, inhuman, and incapable of pain or emotion.</p><p>But that wasn't exactly true, was it?</p><p>If it were, he wouldn't have a box of heroin needles and razors sitting under his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> 1000 words per chapter, more or less.
> 
> Angst in every way possible.
> 
> Rude-ass students everywhere.
> 
> 1 chapter per week. (Sunday)
> 
> Here we go.
> 
> xx Lex

New year.

New town.

New school.

Same stupid nickname.

"Watch where you're going, freak!"

 _Damnit_.

Sherlock couldn't really complain, though. He partially agreed with them. He wasn't really all that  _normal_. A teacher's watch could tell him when and where they were on vacation. The angle of the secretary's tie could tell him if they were having an affair with the janitor- They were. In addition, he was also considered the teacher's pet since he aced every test, worksheet, pop quiz, really any question you asked, he could answer. Strangely enough, he hardly knew anything about the solar system. To be blunt, his deduction skills scared people. So much that they refused to work with him. That they avoided him at all costs.

He became an outcast.

A _freak_.

Anderson (Phillip) and Donovan (Sally; neither acceptable enough to be called by their first names) were the worst. He supposed their absolute hatred began on the second day of school, when Sherlock had deduced (in front of the principal) that Sally had been sucking Anderson off in the boys bathroom.

Thus started the name-calling, and Anderson had even went so far as to beat Sherlock to the floor in the locker rooms. The boy was strong for a complete _imbecile_ , and Sherlock barely made it home, since he had managed to get a broken arm _and_ a concussion.

On his way back, head throbbing with pain, and legs weak, was when he found the drug dealer. He knew it wasn't his best option. He knew that once he started he might get addicted- He did. But he just wanted the pain to go away, so he had handed the man all the cash in his pocket and took the drugs home, needles rattling against each other in his pocket as he walked.

Needless to say the pain became more bearable whenever Anderson decided he needed to take his anger out on someone.

Soon, he had used the drugs so much that their effect was starting to wear off, and there came a different kind of pain whenever someone threw either insults or punches at him.

Mental pain.

And that kind of pain unfortunately didn't go away by sticking a needle in his forearm.

The scattering of red lines overlapping each other, so different from his smooth pale skin made that fact quite obvious.

 

 

<<>>

It was quite a different story for John Watson. He was the popular kid. The rugby player. Extremely fit, too. Though he was new, everybody immediately took a like to him.

He was just that kind of person.

It didn't mean he exactly _liked_ this school. No, far from it. Most people were complete arses in his opinion. Bullying was common, and the teacher's didn't do  _shit._

Though he _knew_ bullying was wrong, he didn't do anything when his 'friends' insulted other kids. He didn't do anything when Anderson shoved that Holmes kid into the locker room. He didn't do anything when Anderson, knuckles red from punching came out 5 minutes later...

and _Sherlock didn't_.

Though his heart clenched painfully when he saw Sherlock limping home later that day, he did _nothing_.

And it hurt him, because he knew it was just as bad as doing the punching himself.


	2. Cigarette Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh look." Anderson sneered. Shit. He'd noticed the scars. He shoved Sherlock against the locker and wrapped a calloused hand around the boy's wrist, squeezing slightly and making Sherlock wince in pain. "Seems like the pathetic fag cuts himself too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle your seatbelts, lampfucks, because this is gonna be one damn angsty ride.
> 
> Also this is not beta'd or britpick'd....It'd be fantastic if someone would volunteer or something. All you'd have to do is go over the chapter (I'd send it by email) and make sure there aren't any stupid American mistakes. ;)
> 
> xx Lex

All Sherlock wanted to do was get out of class to smoke for a few minutes. To releive some tension, maybe clear his head. The damn teachers here were just utterly  _bad_ at their job, and ignorant too, and it took all of Sherlock's patience not to correct them every chance he got. He'd tried that before, and he'd ended up in the principal's office.

Everything was going fine so far. He'd slipped the cigarette from his pocket and was just about to light it when  _fucking Anderson_ decided he needed to get a drink. Why, Sherlock couldn't guess. Anderson certainly didn't have a brain up there that needed fluid.

"Oh, hey Freak. Stalk anyone new today?" Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and stuffed the unlit cigarette in his pocket for later.

"I don't stalk people, Anderson. I simply observe." He scanned the stocky boy up and down. Hm...swollen lips, wrinkled shirt, messed up hair... "Been snogging Donovan, then?" Anderson's eyes widened in shock -though one would _think_ he'd be used to deduction by now- and his expression quickly turned to one of anger.

"Fucking stalker, you are." he spat, and grabbed Sherlock by the collar. "Bet you're damn jealous." The strain of his shirt fabric brought his sleeves up slightly, revealing dozens of raw, red lines. "Oh look." Anderson sneered. _Shit_. He'd noticed the scars. He shoved Sherlock against the locker and wrapped a calloused hand around the boy's wrist, squeezing slightly and making Sherlock wince in pain. "Seems like the pathetic fag cuts himself too."

Neither of them saw John as he started to run towards them.

<<>>

John walked down the hallway, feeling slightly dejected. Couldn't the teachers understand that he had  _other homework_ to do besides theirs? He was about to open his locker to get his notebook when he heard snippets of a conversation echo through the school. It _seemed_ like just a normal fight between two idiots...

_"Fucking stalker-"_

_"-damn jealous-"  
_

_"-pathetic fag cuts himself-"_

Well shit. Sounded like Anderson was attacking the Holmes kid again, self harming just being one more thing to use against him.

He took a deep breath and made a split second decision. Okay.

Today was going to be the day that John Watson actually did something.

<<>>

Sherlock was relieved -and quite surprised- when Anderson was tackled to the ground by a sandy haired boy. (John Watson?) Obviously fearing he might get in trouble now that there was another person involved, he fled the scene. 

John leaned over and pulled Sherlock to his feet. "You alright?" 

What?

Why did John care if he was  _alright?_  

"Um...physically speaking, I'm fine. Mentally speaking....I don't know if I'll ever feel the same now that I've got Anderson's hideous face burned into my brain for the rest of my life." At that, John let out a soft chuckle that Sherlock would almost say was friendly, and looked him over, presumably checking for injuries.

"Alright. Seems like you're okay." John started to turn away, but his eyes kept darting back to Sherlock as if he wanted to say something. "I'm...erm, I just want to apologize for all those times Anderson was a bastard to you and I kinda just... _stood there."_ He was apologizing? Strange. He had nothing _to_ apologize for, and no one really ever cared about Sherlock anyways. "Look, if you ever need someone to talk to, let me know."

Well then.

Sherlock didn't really know what to say to that.

Thankfully, John walked away, and Sherlock was left with a cigarette and hundreds of questions that he -infuriatingly- didn't know the answer to.


	3. Damnit, Angelo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I guess....it's customary for project partners to meet after school?" Well, now he'd done it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've got a britpicker now, a lovely girl named Kate. (thank you again btw)
> 
> Next chapter will be up next Sunday :D Also, if you've come here from my other fic, 14 days, the epilogue should be up by then as well. (it shall include smut, and I'll put the appropriate warnings in the tags, so be cautious if you don't read that crap.
> 
> xx Lex

The next day, when the girl Sherlock was partnered up with refused to work with him, John Watson volunteered to take her place.

The class fell silent and turned to him with wide eyes.

Because no one _ever_ wanted to work with Sherlock Holmes.

He felt a little strange when John -willingly!- sat down and raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Guess we're partners. Any ideas for this book project?"

Sherlock shrugged, fighting the urge to smile back. He didn't _have_ emotions and he didn't _smile_ unless he was trying to get something from someone. "I've already read the book. You don't have to read it, I'll just do the project, as usual. I don't need the distraction of a partner." To his astonishment, John shook his head, laughing.

"I'm helping with this project whether you like it or not!" Sherlock was about to argue when John held up his hand in warning. "Come on, I don't think it's fair for me to get credit for your work."

"I _could_ allow you to assist me," No, Sherlock, stop, you don't work with _anyone_. "I guess… it's customary for project partners to meet after school?" Well, _now_ he'd done it. He could always just use some insult and get him to request another partner, but this was _John Watson_ ; the only person that had ever helped him.

"Great. Could we meet at Angelo's? I've heard they have great Italian." Sherlock nodded. Suddenly, the bell rang, and Sherlock quickly collected his papers and stood up.

"7:00. Don't be late." He immediately filed the time under ' _important events_ ' in his mind palace.

<<>>

It was 6:58 when John finally walked into Angelo's, his rucksack slung across his shoulders. Sherlock waved him over to a booth and sat down. 

"So," John said, smiling. "I started reading the book." Sherlock shook his head and chuckled slightly.

"I've finished it. You don't need to read it. Augustus dies at the end, and I suppose to an ordinary person it would be a painful thing to read." He idly flipped through the project directions. "Emotions. Dull things."

John let out an exaggerated sigh, -amused?- taking a sip of the ice water on the table. "Well, I suppose you've just spoiled it, then." He laughed -yes, amused-, and scanned the menu. "Have you been here before?"

"Yes, I know the owner quite well." The man in question (Angelo) suddenly walked up to their table. 

"That's very true. This boy-" Angelo said, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder. "-proved my innocence." Hm. That was only  _partially_ true.

"No, Angelo, I only proved that you were actually committing a less punishable crime across town and saved you a few years of jail time." Sherlock corrected, but Angelo just shook his head and smiled.

"All food is on the house for you and your date." _Dammit_ , Angelo. Thankfully, John simply said, "Not his date," and ordered a plate of fettucini shrimp. He looked strangely concerned when Sherlock only ordered a coffee. _  
_

Interesting.

<<>>

After John finished his food, Sherlock could tell there was something on his mind. "Alright. What is it, then?" John seemed to snap to attention.

"Oh. Um, well, I was just wondering, how did you prove Angelo innocent? Or, well… less guilty?" Sherlock simply shrugged and stirred some sugar in his tea.

"There's this thing I do. I...deduce people. Like, for instance-" he said, scanning John. Ok, so... "Your dad was in the military. My condolences, by the way. I can tell by the way you walk. Military stance, like you want to follow in his footsteps." John's reaction told him he was spot on, so he continued.

"Your sturdy hands and anatomy books in your bag show that you want to be an army doctor. Interesting. Your family's poor, and you have an alcoholic brother that you don't approve of." He stopped and took a sip of his tea as John sat there, momentarily stunned.

"Wow, Sherlock, that was brilliant." Brillant? He was… _impressed_?

"That's not what people usually say." John looked confused and raised his eyebrows.

"What do people usually say?"

"Piss off."

They both burst into laughter


	4. Texts From a Sociopath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even his brother barely put up with him. He only did so in the first place because after Mummy and Daddy died, he was obligated to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> If this is a problem for you, please don't read it. It's definitely not worth it.
> 
> Anyways, sorry for this angsty chapter. I kinda had to do it, maybe shed some light on why Sherlock cuts? Thanks for reading.
> 
> (Again, thanking my lovely editor Kate :D)
> 
> xx Lex

There were 3 minutes left till the bell rang for them to leave, and Sherlock had almost finished writing the book summary for the project. "I don't understand the point of this. We should be studying actual  _cancer_ cells, not just reading about a girl's losses and how much she  _hates_ cancer." he muttered. John chuckled as he scanned over Sherlock's paper. 

"Well, you're still doing some fantastic work." Again with the compliments? Was he  _really_ that amazing? John interrupted his thoughts by scribbling something on the edge of his paper. "It's my number. I figure you'll need it- well, more like _I'll_ need to ask you questions on the book." he joked. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and stuffed the paper into his rucksack.

"I suppose."

The bell rang.

<<>>

Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but as soon as he got home, he sprinted up to his room to text John, much like a schoolgirl with a crush. (a rather demeaning comparison, to be honest.) With nimble fingers, he typed in the number and sent John a text.

**Hello. SH**

**Hopefully you gave me the right number. SH**

**John? SH**

God, he was such an _idiot_. John was probably just being polite and pretending he didn't see Sherlock's texts instead of flat out telling him he didn't want to talk. He'd set his hopes too high. Why would anyone want to talk to  _Sherlock_ _Holmes,_ the freak? He nearly jumped as his phone buzzed against his thigh, stopping his thoughts from going any further...

Yeah it's me. Sorry, had my phone on silent. JW

I guess I'll sign my texts like that too. JW

Letting out a sigh, (relief? he was _relieved_?) Sherlock quickly sent a reply.

**Ah. I was working on an experiment anyways, it's fine. SH**

Well, that was a lie. But he  _did_ feel like the fingers in his min-fridge would be unusable soon, so he pulled them out along with bottles of various chemicals, and began testing their reactions with human flesh. His phone buzzed again, causing him to almost spill the hydrofluoric acid. (not good, could cause  _serious_ damage)

Experiment? What kind of experiment? JW

Well...Sherlock might as well tell him the truth and have him run away screaming now rather than later. Because, he presumed that later, he might care about John more than he already did.

**Testing different types of chemicals on...fingers. Human fingers. SH**

**Don't worry, it's not illegal. I got them from the morgue. SH**

It took John a while to reply, and that scared Sherlock. More than it should. Because why should it matter whether John thought he was disgusting? Sherlock didn't know, but somehow, it did _._ Thankfully, 10 minutes later, he received another text from John.

lol. You some sort of psychopath? JW

**No. High-functioning sociopath, actually. SH**

Oh, thank god. I thought I was dealing with a serial murderer here. Thanks for the clarification. :D JW

Sherlock squinted at the message. What was that at the end? Was that a....

**...did you just send me a smiley face? SH**

...maybe. ;) JW

**Very mature. SH**

:D ;) :P ;] JW

Secretly amused, Sherlock huffed in annoyance. John was  _so_ immature. But he found himself smiling as he shut his phone off and continued his experiments.

He couldn't help but feel that maybe John was  _different._

<<>>

The problem with being a high functioning sociopath is that Sherlock was unable to sleep. Random thoughts, facts, deductions, images; they were all whirring around his head non-stop. It was horrible at times.

And then an image of John popped into his head.

John. Why did he even  _tolerate_ Sherlock? Honestly, he considered himself an utter prick. He wasn't even _nice_ to John for God's sake! Yet he kept coming back. Kept complimenting Sherlock on his deductions. Smiled all the time, even when Sherlock -involuntary- insulted him.

He didn't deserve John all that much, did he?

Even his brother barely put up with him. He only did so in the first place because after Mummy and Daddy died, he was obligated to.

Suddenly, there was the familiar overwhelming urge to block out the mental pain with physical pain.

Well.

Mycroft had thankfully missed the razors he'd hidden under his pillow.

As he added new cuts to the jagged, red skin of his forearm, watching the blood pool up from the marks, Sherlock couldn't help but hope he wouldn't end up dragging John into this mess.

He was too good of a person for that. 


	5. Not Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson would be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mkay ass-couches, this may be a triggering chapter? I don't have much experience with self harm or depression, but I think some parts in this could use trigger warnings?  
> Anyways, I've always been a sucker for hurt/comfort fics, so now that I'm the writer, it CAN be a hurt/comfort fic and it WILL be.
> 
> xx Lex

John wasn't an idiot, to Sherlock's disappointment.

He noticed the small things, like the fact that Sherlock wore long sleeves the next day, the fact that he winced when his arm brushed against his side, the fact that he kept his hands in his pocket.

So when the bell rang, signaling the end of school, John pulled Sherlock aside with a concerned look. "Sherlock?" he asked softly. "Can I see your wrists?" Sherlock turned away defiantly, shaking his head angrily.

"There's nothing  _to_ see, John. And even if there was, you have no right to." No. John wasn't going to let Sherlock shut him out like this. 

"Hey, you can trust me. I'm your friend." John took a tentative step forward, his hand outstretched to Sherlock.

The taller boy sneered. "I don't have friends." Right. John had almost forgotten that this was  _Sherlock Holmes_ he was dealing with, the unfeeling sociopath who had no friends. He nodded blankly and walked briskly away, a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. He never should've let himself get so attached.

<<>>

Sherlock stood in the hallway frozen. Oh god. He'd fucked it all up, hadn't he? No no no, he  _couldn't_ lose John now. In a split second decision, Sherlock sprinted after him.

His long legs gave him the advantage, and soon he was a couple of meters behind John. "John." he said desperately. "I don't have friends." John turned to look at him, his face contorted into one of hurt. No, John wait. "I've only got one." Sherlock smiled nervously, and John grinned back. His smile slipped a bit when he motioned down to his shirt-covered forearm. "I'm sorry. I...didn't want you to...see." He hoped John would just get the hint and  _not_ roll up his sleeve,  _not_ look.

But John did. Sherlock hissed in pain as his sleeve was pushed up carefully. "Shit. I- I didn't know it was this bad. God, I'm so sorry, I should've..." he breathed in a sympathetic voice. Why John was showing Sherlock sympathy, he couldn't guess.

Shaking his head, Sherlock pulled his arm away quickly. "Not your fault, I'm just a fuck up." John's eyes widened a fraction and he slipped his hand into Sherlock's. It felt warm, soft, holding hands....was nice.

"You're  _not_ a fuck up." Somehow, those words made Sherlock's expression soften, and he felt his stomach flutter. (What!?) John let go of his hand all too soon, leaving Sherlock with an empty feeling.

John Watson would be the death of him.

<<>>

Want to head to Angelo's? JW

  **Why? SH**

**We're done with the project. SH**

Yeah, but we're still friends, right? JW

Sherlock sighed as his fingers danced idly over the keys, not sure what to type. Didn't John understand that Sherlock had never  _done_ this? Hell, he didn't even know what a friend was supposed to do.

**I suppose, though I wouldn't really know. SH**

[delayed] You're kidding, right? You've seriously never had a friend before? JW

**Am I known to ever be "kidding"? SH**

Wow. You're brilliant, can't believe no-one's bothered to be your friend before. JW

Sherlock felt his face heat up in a light blush -since when did he  _blush?-_ and typed out a quick reply.

**I'm hardly "brilliant." SH**

And before John could object,

**Angelo's. 10 minutes. SH**

 


	6. An Exception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've...made an exception. For you, I suppose." Sherlock swallowed thickly, not looking up from his phone. "What I mean is, you're a bit of fresh air from the usual idiocy at this school. Don't take compliments from me lightly. They don't happen often."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jfc I live & breathe awkward confessions. *shoves chapter towards you* HERE. HAVE SOME.

It's funny how time goes so slowly when you're waiting for someone.

After around 11.5 minutes of waiting -which felt more like an hour, honestly- John rushed in. His nose was tinged pink along with his cheeks, and his ears were flushed red from the cold. Fall had come fast, and though it hadn't snowed yet, the wind was horribly chilly.

"Sorry I'm late." John gasped, as if he'd ran there. He probably had, judging by the slight sheen of sweat around his hairline despite the weather. Interesting. Sherlock couldn't see why John would be in such a rush. It was just dinner, after all.

"Ah, it's fine. I was working on something anyways." he said, gesturing to his phone. It wasn't a _complete_ lie. Lestrade needed some assistance, but he'd needed it now, and Sherlock had already arranged dinner with John. John nodded and shrugged off his coat, sitting down.

"What're you working on?" he asked, sounding like he genuinely  _cared._ Hm. Unlikely, but Sherlock sighed to feign disinterest and answered.

"Lestrade, a detective at the Yard, asked me for my insight on a case. He needed me to visit the crime scene, but I had plans..." he said, and motioned to John. "I was just giving them some advice, they're all  _idiots_ over there. Told them I couldn't come." John raised his eyebrows.

"You passed up  _a case,_ something that you absolutely  _love,_ for Italian food with a dull person like me? Somehow that shocks me." he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Never took you for one to socialize willingly with anyone, especially not if you had to pass up a bloody case to do it." (John seemed to know him well.)

Sherlock shifted his gaze to his phone. "You're correct in that assumption. I don't...'socialize' with anyone." He smiled slightly, scrolling through murder reports. He didn't really realize when the words slipped out, but they did. "I've made an exception. For you, I suppose." Oh. Shit, did he  _say_ that? Sherlock swallowed thickly, not looking up from his phone. "What I mean is, you're a bit of fresh air from the usual idiocy at this school. Don't take compliments from me lightly. They don't happen often."

John flashed him a grin. "Well, thanks." He was about to order a plate of food from Angelo when his face lit up, like he'd just had the best idea. Well. Sherlock was yet to determine that. "I've got an idea." John announced, turning to him.

"That's evident. What is it, may I ask?" John chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"To be honest, I'm not really hungry. Just wanted to hang out with you, I guess." He shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Erm...is there a possibility that you'd still be able to take the case? And if you don't mind, can I come?" Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction. Had John just asked to come with Sherlock...on a  _case?_ He attempted to act like it wasn't a huge deal that John had asked that, and shrugged slightly.

"Yes, I'd still be able to take the case. And if you want, there wouldn't be any harm in you coming." God, that sounded  _incredibly_ nice. He needed to tone down the friendliness just a bit. This was incredibly unlike him. "Just don't get in my way." John nodded quickly -was he excited? Anxious? and pulled on his coat.

"Great!" he said enthusiastically. "Lead the way." Sherlock stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"Scotland Yard it is, then."

<<>>

When they arrived, Sherlock made a beeline for the crime scene. A young girl, dressed in a pink jacket, lay sprawled on the pavement. Neat clothes. School related purposes, then. High school. Promise ring on her finger, likely signifying future engagement. Outside scuffed and dirty. Sherlock reached down, and despite the protests of some of the police officers, he pulled it off. The inside was clean, as if she'd never taken it off. Hm. Wait a second, if she was here for school related purposes....where was her bag? Sherlock rattled off his deductions and notified the police to search for a missing pink bag, and trace the killer from there. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see John watching in awe.

The police soon cleared away as the woman was carted off in a body bag. "Brilliant." John breathed, and Sherlock had to do a double take.

"What?" he said, confused. John chuckled a bit and shook his head.

"Your deductions. Absolutely bloody amazing." Oh god,  _again_ with the compliments? John could stop trying to flatter him now, he didn't really need the fake appreciation.

"John, you can stop feigning amazement. It's really unnecessary." John gave him a confused look and shook his head. 

" _Feigning?_ Wh-, Sherlock, why the hell would I pretended to be amazed? What you do is astounding, and I'd be an idiot not to acknowledge that." Sherlock was taken aback by John's words. No-one had ever thought Sherlock's deduction skills were anything more than a nuisance.

John noticed Sherlocks reaction, eyes widening. "Why do I get the impression that this surprises you?"

"Because it does. My intellect is usually either annoying or infuriating to others, and I'm rather confused why you think differently." Sentimental stuff just seemed to pour out of Sherlock's mouth, now that he was around John so often. Ah, the side effects of _friendship_.

Though Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if he wished it was more.


	7. How Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't ok. This was so /human/. Sherlock should't be getting an erection from thinking about John Watson. John Watson in the shower. John Watson in fitted red pants- no, he had to stop, thinking about that only make it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this fic is kinda rated M and tagged for sexual content so ya can't really blame me guys. Awkward aroused teenage Sherlock had to happen sometime, right?
> 
> Fair warning, I've only done like 3 or 4 smut scenes in my lifetime so be prepared to read utter shit.
> 
> Also for reference, Coach Lite is the name of a roller skating place near my house :T Not really creative, so I used it. 
> 
> See you next week for clumsy Sherlock attempting to rollerblade!!!
> 
> xx Lex

Saturday morning came with a sliver of pale sunlight falling on Sherlock's cheek, the sound of a cold wind outside, and pajama pants that were just a bit too tight-  _what?_   Sherlock blinked, eyes heavy from drowsiness, and glanced down in surprise at the small tent under the sheets. _How..._? Never having gotten many erections in his lifetime, Sherlock attempted to think of what could have caused this.

Maybe a dream of some sort?

He thought hard, trying to recollect some sort of memory of the night...ah. Now he remembered. It'd been John, hadn't it?

This wasn't ok. This was so _human_. Sherlock should't be getting an erection from thinking about John Watson. John in the shower. John in fitted red pants, pressing sloppy kisses down his jawline- _no_ , he had to stop, thinking about that only make it worse. Sherlock was now painfully hard. It didn't help that he hadn't masturbated in years, either.

Well.

Sherlock didn't really want to take a cold shower in this weather, and he didn't have the patience to wait for it to subside.

Slipping a hand under the waistband of his pajamas, Sherlock gave his prick an experimental stroke, wondering what it would feel to have  _John_ doing this. He shuddered at the intense feeling and let out a low groan. This was all so new- he'd deleted all of this information years back...Mind going blank as he ran his thumb over the head, dripping with precum, it only took a few more strokes before he came in his hand, gasping and bucking feverishly against his hand, moaning John's name through clenched teeth, skin sheening with a slight sweat.

" _Fuck_." he murmured quietly. He was so far gone, wasn't he? He'd told himself not to get too attached, not to care, just to get the _stupid goddamn project_ done and _never_ speak to John again. It hand't really worked. Sherlock never could've anticipated the charms of John Watson.

Shamefully peeling the sticky sheets off and rolling off the bed, Sherlock shuffled to the shower, not only to clear the mess in his pants, but to clear his head as well.

<<>>

Sherlock felt a little weird texting John an hour after he'd just wanked to thoughts of him. It just felt.. _awkward_. It shouldn't have, since John didn't know and nothing had changed, maybe just on Sherlock's end of things, but it still felt strange nonetheless.

Hey. You free today? JW

Of course he was free, did John think that Sherlock actually had any sort of _social life_?

**Most likely. Why? SH**

Idk, just thought we could hang out or something. JW

**Abbreviations, John, really? It doesn't take much effort to type "I don't know". SH**

**And where would we hang out, as you so elegantly put it? SH**

Aren't you just a little ray of sunshine. JW

I would suggest Angelo's, but it's only like 11 and I haven't eaten breakfast. JW

**Don't leave it up to me to decide, I don't know a thing about friends and what to do if you have one. SH**

Alright, alright. I hear they just opened a roller skating rink pretty close by, called "Coach Lite" apparently. JW

**Are you suggesting we go skating? SH**

**If you haven't already noticed, I'm not particularly athletic. SH  
**

Aw, c'mon! It'll be fun! JW

**Fine. But if I'm injured, you're paying the hospital bill. SH**

Great! See you at 12? JW

**Fine. SH**

Turning off his phone and slipping it into his pocket, Sherlock wondered what the _hell_ he'd just agreed to.


	8. Not the Best Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock imagined he very closely resembled a newborn giraffe trying to run on ice, if that was any simile to go by. "John." he grumbled as he gripped tightly to the railing. "Are you trying to kill me?" His legs felt like jelly and he hoped he didn't look /too/ stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm REALLY sorry for not getting this up until today, I was in Indiana (not where I live) for most of the weekend, and had to work on it on my mobile. And just my luck, the phone service was shitty too. To make up for it I'm hoping to get the next one up by Friday.
> 
> xx Lex

John was the only reason Sherlock even considered going roller skating. He'd never been before, but he speculated that this wouldn't end well. Weak legs, no physical strength, and inexperience wasn't the best combination.

John greeted him with a bright smile, and he smiled, trying not to seem _too_ eager to see the shorter boy.

"Hey, Sherlock! I didn't know your shoe size, so I guessed. Hope these fit." John glided gracefully over to him and held out a pair of skates. "I already put mine on, so I'll just wait here." Sherlock inspected the shoes before taking them. Fascinating, John had managed to nearly get his  _exact_ size. 

"Impressive judgement. These will fit adequately." he muttered and slipped them on. After tying the laces, Sherlock stood up-

-And promptly fell backwards.

He squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact, but he never hit the ground. Though his scarf did seem a bit tight. His eyes opened to find John holding firmly onto the blue piece of fabric, and he was quickly pulled to his feet. "Heh, almost broke your neck there. Maybe we should get you to the railings?"

"Yeah. That'd probably be best." Sherlock agreed, slightly stunned. Thankfully, the smooth surface of the rink was surrounded by metal bars for people to grab onto if they were blundering, inexperienced idiots like himself in this situation. John let go of his scarf and grasped his hand instead to carefully pull him onto the rink.

All Sherlock was thinking about was the feel of John's hand around his.

"Sherlock? You alright?" John asked. Sherlock looked warily at him and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just not exactly sure that this is a good idea." Shaking his head, John laughed brightly. What, was Sherlock's fear _amusing_? "John, I don't find this funny at all." The boy simply smiled.

"Sorry. It's just a little funny to find something that you  _can't_ do." Sherlock wasn't sure if that was meant to be a compliment, but he didn't take it as one.

"Shut up." In an act of defiance, to prove John wrong, that he _could_ do this, Sherlock pulled away to attempt to skate on his own. This time, John was too far away to catch him. Which resulted in him taking a total of four steps and falling on his face. He could hear the scraping of wheels on wood as John rushed over, sounding strangely frantic.

Sherlock felt gentle hands under his arms, helping him to his feet, and he was soon relatively stable. His face didn't hurt  _too_ much. A fall like that, he presumed, shouldn't cause any serious damage.

"Hey, are you okay?" John said worriedly. Sherlock nodded and leaned over to grasp the metal rails. "Yeah, you should probably start off skating with those."

Sherlock began to move his legs, and he imagined he very closely resembled a newborn giraffe trying to run on ice, if that was any simile to go by. "John." he grumbled as he gripped tightly to the railing. "Are you trying to kill me?" His legs felt like jelly and he hoped he didn't look _too_  stupid.

John chuckled softly and took Sherlock's hand in his, taking him by surprise. "John." he stammered. "What- I have the railing, you don't have to-" The shorter boy shook his head.

"It's just in case you fall. I don't want to be paying your hospital bill." Sherlock noticed a slight blush on John's cheeks and he looked away, avoiding his gaze.

"Alright."

It _was_ alright. It was more than alright, and Sherlock dreaded the moment when John would let go and leave him.


	9. Don't Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sat wordless on the bed, pleading eyes, willing for John to stay -please, don't go, John, don't go, I need you- But John couldn't hear his desperate thoughts and pushed the door open with one hand. "John." The boy glanced back. "Stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if usage of drugs can be triggering but there is mention/ after affects of drugs so uh if that can affect you skip it ok ^.^
> 
> (also should I change pajamas to pyjamas???? would it be more accurate?)
> 
> xx Lex

John was woken up in the middle of the night by the shrill ringing of his phone. Who the _hell_ was calling him at, what, three in the morning? He snatched the phone from his nightstand and squinted at the bright screen. _Sherlock?_ He hit 'answer.'

"Hey.'S fucking 3:02 AM, and we've got school t'morrow." John mumbled sleepily into the phone, his voice a bit hoarse.

 _"Sorry."_ The voice on the other end was slurred, as if Sherlock was drunk.

"Sherlock? You alright mate?" The line went silent for a moment, save for the slight crackling due to poor connection, before Sherlock finally answered.

_"No."_

"Ok. What's wrong?"

 _"I don't know where I am."_   Fuck. Being lost in the middle of the night wasn't good. John hoped Sherlock was okay.

"Alright. Are you drunk?" 

_"High. Cocaine."_

No.

Sherlock was on _cocaine?_

Shit, this was worse than he thought. John needed to find Sherlock _now_.

"I'll come pick you up. I'm going to need a description of your surroundings, can you do that for me?" he said, his voice denying him control and wavering from worry.

 _"Trees. Lots of...trees. A bike shop. It's blurry, I- I don't know, John."_   Blurry? John didn't think coke had that side effect. He was a bit skeptical, but from Sherlock's brief description he knew that the other boy was near a park a few miles from his house.

"Okay Sherlock. You're gonna be fine. I'm coming."

John slipped a jumper over his head and crept out of the house.

<<>>

Headlights shone into Sherlock's eyes, making him wince in pain. All his senses were amplified. The slam of the car door as John got out. Sherlock's name being called out to him. Everything  _hurt._ But at least he knew now that heroin and cocaine weren't a very good combination- though he'd read on the internet that the high was incredible. Unfortunately not so much in his case.

"John." he said when a pair of strong arms pulled him to his feet. Oh. He'd been on the ground. No wonder why he was so... _cold_. He shivered and leaned into John's warm body. _Instinct_ , he told himself. _Not sentiment_. He was simply cold, and it was human instinct to move towards sources of heat.

"Hey. You're okay. I'll take you home." John murmured in a soft tone. Sherlock relaxed slightly, his eyes fluttering closed.

"The address...two-twenty-one-bee...Baker street." He could feel John nod as he practically carried him to the car.

Sherlock slipped into the backseat and laid down, relishing the feeling of warmth. "Thank you." he mumbled. He could just barely hear John's reply, as the drugs had worn off slightly, and tiredness was starting to take over.

"Any time, Sherlock."

<<>>

Sherlock only awoke again when he heard the rustle of sheets and the soft feel of silk as they were pulled over his body. "J...John?" he murmured quietly in a voice he was almost  _sure_ didn't belong to him.

"Yeah. It's me. Your older brother let me in. You're in your room."

Oh. John had carried him up two flights of stairs?

"You have a nice house by the way. Very big. Lots and lots of fantastic stairs on the way up to your room." John joked in a quiet voice, probably knowing that loud noises would hurt right now. The lights were dimmed too. Hm. John had been very considerate. That was nice.

"Ah. Sorry 'bout that." A moment passed, then Sherlock blinked questioningly as he realized he was wearing his _pajamas_. "John- what-"

John noticed his confusion and blushed slightly. "It didn't look like those trousers were very comfortable. I didn't think you'd wake up, so I figured I'd...ah, do you a favor." Sherlock nodded, though John's words didn't entirely reach him. His limbs ached with exhaustion and he rubbed his head, and John apparently took this as a signal to leave.

"Right, you're probably tired. I'll be off then. You should take tomorrow off. And please, Sherlock, please try to avoid the drugs." The shorter boy made his way to the door, and Sherlock felt his chest ache.

He laid wordless on the bed, pleading eyes willing for John to stay - _please, don't go, don't go, I need you_ \- but John couldn't hear his desperate thoughts and pushed the door open with one hand. "John." Sherlock finally choked out. John glanced back at him. "Stay."

The air was tense between them for a moment, but the lights clicked off and Sherlock heard John sigh, his steps soft as he walked back towards the bed. "Okay. Move over, you insufferable git. I'm not sleeping on the floor."

Sherlock shifted over as far as he could as to allow the other boy more space, and he soon felt the bed dip beside him as John got in, slipping under the covers.

"G'night, Sherlock." he mumbled.

"Goodnight, John."

He fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please hit the kudos button on your way out if you enjoyed, and if you have any comments/suggestions let me know! <3
> 
> Also I apologize for any inaccuracies here.


	10. Mostly Accidental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sherlock, it's fine." John said quietly, and used a muscular arm to pull Sherlock closer to him- what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you've all been waiting for.
> 
> Uh btw guys thank you so much for all the views, kudos, and lovely comments. They really make this so much more worth writing.
> 
> Also thank you to my lovely beta secret-life-ofthe-teen-blogger. Go follow her on tumblr.
> 
> xx Lex  
> P.s.: NSFW.

Sherlock, still groggy, felt something warm move in front of him. He made a small noise of appreciation and shifted closer- _oh god_. He had an erection, and the friction from moving had just made it worse.

Sherlock opened his eyes.

_Shit._

A head of feather blonde hair was centimeters from his face. He took an involuntary breath, the scent intoxicating.  _John..._

He hadn't even noticed he'd been rocking his hips forward until John stirred, turning over, and looked at him with confused, tired eyes. "Sh'lock?" he said in a husky voice that went straight to Sherlock's cock.

He froze, terrified. "Sorry. Sorry, John, I'm sorry." He'd just fucked it all up. This was going to cost him everything, wasn't it? All because he couldn't control his  _stupid primal urges._

"Sherlock, it's fine." John said quietly, and used a muscular arm to pull Sherlock closer to him- what? Why wasn't John runn-

Warm, supple lips met his in a gentle kiss, tasting faintly of morning breath and tea.

Sherlock's mind went blank.

" _John_." he breathed against the other boy's lips. This was so... _so_ much better than anything he'd imagined. But then it ended, and John pulled away, their faces still so close Sherlock could feel his breath.

"Is this okay?" John asked. Oh  _god, John,_ this was not okay, this was so much  _better_ than okay. Sherlock responded by yanking John closer to him for a second kiss. John's mouth parted under his own, technique clumsy from grogginess, teeth clicking against eachother, but it was _perfect_. He felt hands running up his shirt, he felt their bodies brush together-

A quiet moan slipped past Sherlock's lips as John's hand slipped underneath the waistband of his pants and-  _oh fuck that was good._ His hips snapped forward, and John began stroking his cock, drawing more breathy sounds from his mouth. A tight heat pooled low in his abdomen. He suddenly found himself arching his back, crying out as John twisted his wrist slightly on the downstroke.

"John!" He came all over the other's hands, panting heavily. Realizing John was still hard, he used his remaining strength to move his lips to John's. He grasped John's throbbing member, and a few quick, lengthy strokes from Sherlock's nimble hands, John was brought to a shuddering climax. They both collapsed against the pillows, completely undone.

"Mm." John muttered appreciatively, his hair tousled from sleep and sex, and _god_ , he looked gorgeous. "We should take a shower."

Shower with John? "I agree."

<<>>

When John carefully removed Sherlock's shirt in the bathroom, water running hot behind them, he took a sharp breath. Ah. He'd seen the scars then. "Sherlock." he murmured. "Christ, this is worse than I thought." Sherlock fixed his gaze on the floor and moved his arms behind his back. He was a fool for thinking John would understand.

"No, don't do that." John gently pulled Sherlock's hands forward. "It's fine. It's all fine. I just- I don't like seeing people I care about hurt." 

"Sorry."

"God, don't apologize."

"...sorry."

John laughed slightly and took his own shirt off before getting into the shower, letting the water run in rivulets down his toned back.  _Attractive. No, attractive didn't even begin to describe-_

"You coming?" John asked, snapping Sherlock out of his trance. He joined the shorter boy under the shower head, sighing as his head was hit with blissful steaming water. "You're beautiful, you know."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "What?" He was almost sure he hadn't heard John right.

"Beautiful. You're absolutely-" John pressed an open mouthed kiss to Sherlock's jaw. "-beautiful." At this, Sherlock dipped down and pulled John in for a proper kiss, this one softer, slower, not driven by sexual desire, their unclothed chests pressing together. Hm, Sherlock could  _definitely_ get used to this. He hoped he'd be able to.

"I love you." He wasn't even aware that the words had been more than a passing thought until he saw John's eyes widen. "Shit. Did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah." John murmured. "I love you too, you bloody git." A warm feeling filled Sherlock's chest that he couldn't quite place, and he nuzzled his face into John's wet hair.

"You'd better not be lying."

"I'm not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know approximately nothing about the sexytimes so apologies if this is absolute shit.  
> Hit kudos anyways.  
> Also dya think I did the whole "I love you" thing too early?


	11. A First Time For Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's first time was with John, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy thank you guys, the number of views and kudos on this shocks me. Really. Like, wow. 
> 
> Anyways, the chapter title can probably give you a hint at the events at this chapter.
> 
> And I swear it'll get back to being fluffy soon. Just had to get some of the sexual tension outta the way.
> 
> xx Lex
> 
> (ps this is late bc i cant write porn)

Sherlock's first time was with John, of course.

As it happened, they'd been chased by Anderson and his group of imbeciles all the way back to Sherlock's house, where they'd quickly slammed the door. Apparently the attraction between them was obvious, even to _Anderson_.

There were a few moments spent in the hallway, sweaty and panting, adrenaline filled, and suddenly the air went tense as the thrill from the chase became something else.

Something _much_ _better_ , Sherlock thought.

John had pressed him against the wall and kissed him roughly, and Sherlock kissed him back, just as needy for contact.

There was an unspoken agreement, Sherlock's coat was thrown to the floor, along with he and John's shoes, and they made their way up the stairs.

More clothes were shed.

And now here Sherlock was, beneath John's built frame, cock pressed against his stomach with intense arousal. Precome dotted his abdomen as soft, open mouthed kisses were placed down his body, stopping right above the area he needed that mouth _most_.

John's hand wrapped around his shaft, and before Sherlock could react, a wet heat enveloped his member, cutting his breath short.

" _Fuck,_ John." he moaned in a strangled voice. John hummed around him, sending waves of pleasure through his body. And when an experienced tongue licked him base to tip, he thought he was going to come right there. But that couldn't happen. "Stop."

There was a wet pop as John pulled off Sherlock, looking at him with a worried expression. "Are you alright? If this is too much we can-"

Sherlock shook his head furiously. "N-no, I just...don't want to come like that." He swallowed thickly, and wondered; Did he want to go through with this?

The answer he came up with was _yes_.

"I want to come with you inside me." Sherlock said, his voice wavering slightly. John's pupils expanded- partly from surprise, partly from excitement at the suggestion.

"Wh- I mean, are you sure? Have you ever...?"

 "Yes to the first question. No to the second." Sherlock replied, almost embarrassed at his confession. John surprised him by stroking his thumb lightly across Sherlock's cheek, the simple touch relaxing him, and their lips brushed briefly.

"Do you have lube?"

"Nightstand. Top drawer."

Sherlock lost track of time after that. He could only focus on the sensation of John's lube slicked fingers tracing his entrance, then finally delving in, stretching him, preparing him.

God, it felt _so_ much better than it had the right to.

But he wanted more.

"John. Please, fuck me now."

The removal of John's fingers left Sherlock feeling strangely empty, but something large was soon pressing at his entrance, and Sherlock opened his eyes -which he hadn't even _realized_ were closed- to see John positioned above him, with an expression of affection and lust.

"Okay?"

"Fine. Hurry up, John."

John slid in careful and slow- _painfully_ slow. But before Sherlock knew it, John was inside him, completely, and he felt so stretched he thought he might burst. It...hurt. Though when a soft kiss was pressed to his chest, it was like a switch. Sherlock's body relaxed almost instantly. The uncomfortable feeling was now one of pleasure, and he bucked his hips forward into John,  _needing_ more friction.

Then John started moving, gently at first, but his thrusts soon became rougher, and Sherlock writhed and moaned in pleasure beneath him.

"God- Sherlock, so good." Sherlock pushed his hips back onto John, begging,  _pleading_ him to move faster, fuck him _harder_.

John complied as he nestled his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck, moaning, and the angle changed, and  _oh god._

The world went white, Sherlock's back arched, and he came, his mind going  _entirely blank._ _  
_

It was all just John inside him, soft kisses at his shoulder, a pleasant buzz running through his veins.

The breathtaking look on John's face as he came inside Sherlock.

The way he moaned Sherlock's name as he thrust in one last time.

The gentle caresses after he slid out, the careful way he cleaned them both up.

Though Sherlock's favorite part, he thought, was when John pulled him close, breath puffing against Sherlock's neck as it slowly evened out, and fell asleep.

And maybe, _just_ maybe, Sherlock had found a reason to avoid the box of addictions under his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please excuse any inaccuracies since I am in no way experienced with male/male sex other than by reading fanfiction.


	12. The Impossibilities in Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sherlock? What the hell- is that a…pancake?"
> 
> "It was supposed to be." he grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't cook for shit, so Sherlock shouldn't be able to either.
> 
> Hm, guess that was a bit of a spoiler for this chapter. Oh well. ;)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> xx Lex
> 
> (ps: fluff so sweet you might get a cavity)

As Sherlock awoke to the pleasant feeling of warm breath on the back of his neck, he didn't have to open his eyes to know that it was John behind him, holding him against his chest. Because who else would he let this close?

Smiling slightly, Sherlock untangled himself from John's arms carefully and slid out of bed, his feet meeting the floor with silence. John looked so peaceful while sleeping, and Sherlock didn't want to wake him.

He carefully crossed the room after putting on some pants, and made his way downstairs.

He was going to attempt to make breakfast.

<<>>

Cooking should  _not_ be this difficult, Sherlock thought to himself in annoyance. Pancake batter dripped from the edge of the counter over the floor, flour sprinkled in his curly hair. He'd come to the conclusion that pancake making was nearly impossible, and _that_ was the reason it had turned out burnt black instead of golden brown.

John entered the room just as he was scraping a crusty, black pancake off the pan into the trash can.

"Sherlock? What the hell- is that a... _pancake_?"

"It was  _supposed_ to be." he grumbled. "I don't understand, I measured all the ingredients perfectly, I calculated the exact time it should take for a gas powered stove to heat up a cast iron pan, factored in the batter temperature-"

John had begun laughing. John was actually  _laughing._

Sherlock scowled and rinsed his hands in the sink. "Hmph. Glad you think it's funny I failed at making you breakfast." At that, John smiled warmly.

"Aw, c'mon, I don't think that, you just look a bit ridiculous. And it's the thought that counts, anyways." he said, leaning up to brush the flour out of Sherlock's hair, and kissed the corner of his mouth in the process. Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

"Sorry I messed up breakfast." he murmured honestly.

"It's fine, Sherlock. I'll make the pancakes."

"Good luck, John. Take it from me, you'll need it."

"We'll see."

<<>>

John did, in fact, manage to make some seemingly perfect, golden brown pancakes, and Sherlock watched incredulously as a plate of them were placed in front of him. 

As he took a reluctant bite of the soft, breadlike dish, John smiled at him.

"Does it meet your standards, Sherlock?" he said jokingly, and Sherlock rolled his eyes, stuffing another forkful in his mouth. It tasted surprisingly good.

"It's fine, John. At least I'm not eating a charred lump of dough." He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. "Though I could use some syrup."

<<>>

Sherlock realized only too late that his brother was home, and  _not_ on a business trip as he had previously thought.

"John. I suggest heading upstairs." he said through clenched teeth, slowly standing from the kitchen table.

"Why? What's wrong?" Sherlock didn't answer and grabbed John by the forearm to pull him out of the kitchen. John shook his hand away. "Sherlock! What are you doing?"

Sherlock was about to answer when a familiar voice cleared their throat from the other side of the room. "Ah, Sherlock. Did you have an enjoyable night?"

God, his brother just had to ruin  _everything_ didn't he? "Sod off, Mycroft. Come on, let's go upstairs, John." But John shook his head and smiled slightly at Mycroft.

" _Quite_ an enjoyable night. You must be Sherlock's brother, then?" The older Holmes gave a tight smile in return and glanced at Sherlock.

"Indeed, John. It's nice to finally meet you. Sherlock's told me a lot about you." 

"Shut  _up,_  Mycroft." Sherlock seethed, and hoped John understood he wanted to end this conversation. Unfortunately, John seemed to not notice.

"There's not much to tell." the shorter boy said with an amused glint in his eye. What was John  _doing?_ "Except maybe the fact I'm a fantastic baker. You should really try my scones sometime, they're delectable, though a bit fattening." Ah, John had remembered Mycroft's diet.

It seemed to work. Mycroft's eyes darkened in annoyance and he gave John an utterly fake smile. "Ah. Well, good day, John. I suppose I'll be seeing more of you later."

As he walked out, John could hear him mutter, "If he doesn't get bored of you, that is."


	13. It's Hard to Tell You the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seemed that unless he was hungover, post coital, and in a shower with John, it was nearly impossible to say he loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, had the flu and wasn't really able to focus on anything. I did post part one of what I'm planning to be a 3 part story, so if you guys wanna check it out ("and I couldn't ask for more") that'd be great!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> xx Lex

It took a few days for John to ask what Sherlock knew he inevitably would.

"Sherlock, about what your brother said..." Sherlock swallowed thickly and shifted in bed next to him, suddenly finding the once soft, warm sheets to be hot and prickly against his skin. "I...can't help but wonder if you  _will_ get bored of me-"

Sherlock couldn't help but interrupt with a snap. "No. Never. Do you want to know something?" 

"Y-"

"Rhetorical question, John." His tone didn't soften, but his expression did as he tried to force the words out. "You're...you're the only person I can recall...saying  _that_ to." John looked confused, but Sherlock didn't know how he could make it clearer unless he actually mustered up the courage to say the words. He'd said them once, and he wasn't sure if he could say them again.

"Say what, Sherlock?"

God, why was it so difficult to do this?

_I love you._

_Je t'aime._

"...never mind, John." The air was tense between them until John's breaths evened out, signaling that he was asleep. Sherlock sighed. It seemed that unless he was hungover, post coital, and in a shower with John, it was nearly impossible to say he loved him. 

Ah, the perks of being Sherlock Holmes.

<<>>

Sherlock almost dropped the razors when he heard a knock on the bathroom door. Thin streams of blood dripped down his forearms, painting the floor with small circles of red, and Sherlock started panicking, trying _desperately_ to hold a towel over his new wounds as well as clean up the floor.

"Sherlock, you in there?" John called, sounding worried.

"Y-yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

"Is everything okay? You sound hurt."

"I'm _fine_ , everything's f-fine." 

John obviously didn't believe him, because a minute later he'd picked the lock- damn him -and was looking at Sherlock sadly from the doorway.

"Relapse?" John asked, surprisingly calm, and Sherlock nodded. "Let's get this cleaned up, then."

John sat Sherlock down on the closed toilet seat, gently dabbling his cuts with a damp cloth. He was being incredibly careful- Sherlock hardly felt any pain. The red soon stopped pooling up from his skin, and John took this opportunity to bandage the now dry wounds. "There." he said quietly, wrapping it one last time. "You should be okay."

Sherlock could only nod.

"I'm not mad, you know." Oh, Sherlock could tell. He just didn't know why. "And before you ask why, it's because I know it's hard to stay clean." John understood, then. Oh God, someone finally understood.

"Thank you. For not getting mad at me."  _Say it now_ whispered a voice in the back of his head. "John... I- I wanted to tell you earlier...I mean, I've told you once before...but I-" He swallowed thickly. "Je t'aime, John."

"I know, Sherlock. I love you too."

A sigh of relief escaped Sherlock's chapped lips, and John cut it short with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation of chapter:
> 
> Love will not fix Sherlock. Being in a relationship does not fix depression, self harm, or anything like that. But John cares about Sherlock immensely, so he would probably try to help Sherlock in any way he could. 
> 
> The way I see it, just being in a relationship won't fix your problems. But if your partner does everything they can to help you get better, if they try to understand how you feel and what you're going through, everything just might turn out okay.


	14. Mom...Meet Sherlock.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock would never admit it, but meeting John's family scared him immensely. What if they didn't like him? What would John do? Oh God, what if he ruined everything?
> 
> "Alright. I'll go." He couldn't disappoint John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking I may end this at 15 chapters, and have a sequel later on. What do you guys suggest?
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!
> 
> xx Lex
> 
> (Oh, to whoever wanted Mystrade: I promise I'll incorporate it somewhere at the end, or at least in the sequel if I don't mention it in the last few chapters here. Sorry for not doing that sooner! :c)

Mornings were the best part of the day, Sherlock thought. Mornings were when John was the most affectionate. Mornings were when John held Sherlock to his chest and let his warm breaths tickle the back of Sherlock's neck. John would always kiss him just behind the ear, murmuring things that Sherlock could seldom make out, but the tone they were said in made him relax into John's embrace even further.

This morning was one of those.

John's hand was splayed out across Sherlock's bare chest, and this time, Sherlock was awake enough to catch some of what John was mumbling.

"You're perfect, d'you know th't?"

"I'm not 'perfect'." Sherlock murmured in reply, only partly joking.

John only pulled Sherlock further into his embrace and kissed his neck again. "Hey, d'you want to come over to my place today? Harry's been dying to meet you."

Sherlock would never admit it, but meeting John's family scared him immensely. What if they didn't like him? What would John do? Oh God, what if he ruined _everything_?

"Alright. I'll go." He couldn't disappoint John.

<<>>

It wasn't long before Sherlock stood outside John's house with him, toying nervously with the hem of his long-sleeve shirt. "I just remembered, I have a really important experiment that needs to be tended to right now."

"Sherlock, c'mon, it'll be fine. There's no reason for you to be nervous."

"No, really, I need to get back to my house immediately. It could explode." 

Just then, the door opened, and Harry looked out at them with a slightly annoyed expression.

And he was a  _she._

"I thought you had a _brother_!" Sherlock hissed, looking at John confused.

"Ah right, I never did correct your deduction when we first met.." he chuckled, and pulled Sherlock past Harry into the house.

It wasn't that big. Most of the furniture looked well used, hardly any of it new. The house smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, but the enticing aroma of beef that came from the kitchen made it hardly noticeable.

"I guess we're having dinner here, then." John said.

It only made Sherlock more nervous, and Harry's frequent glances at their intertwined hands didn't help.

 <<>>

"So," John's mother said between bites. "It's nice to _finally_ meet the infamous Sherlock Holmes. John hasn't shut up about you."

John blushed, and Sherlock fought the urge to point out the slight drunken slur in Mrs. Watson's voice.

"Yeah. Now that I see you, he wasn't exaggerating about the cheekbones." Harry said, pointing to Sherlock's face. He couldn't help but laugh a bit at the thought of John talking about him to his family.

"That's surprising. John usually does exaggerate my better qualities." At that, John glared, but there was an amused glint in his eyes.

"Oi, shut up." he grumbled to the three of them- John's father couldn't make it. Sherlock knew it wasn't because of work like John said it was, but he didn't say anything. He _refused_ to ruin this.

Harry chose that moment to chime in and ask the question that had probably been nagging her mother all evening.

"So, you two together yet?"

John surprised him by nodding. "Yeah." he said, casting a hesitant glance towards his mum. "We've been together for a while, but I decided to tell you now." Sherlock gave John a small grin, but it was cut short when he noticed Mrs. Watson's expression.

It looked as though she'd known this was coming, but couldn't actually believe it. There were traces of disgust in her eyes, signaling to homophobia, and Sherlock reached under the table to hold John's hand. "Is there a _problem_ , Mrs. Watson?" he asked, feigning politeness.

She had the nerve to narrow her eyes into a almost unnoticeable glare. "No. No problem. I'll just be in the kitchen." 

Sherlock couldn't help but feel like he'd done something wrong. 


	15. Epilogue (kind of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do hope you enjoy.
> 
> TW for homophobia and an angrily thrown plate. 
> 
> xx Lex
> 
> (I apologize greatly for the truthfully unnecessary delay in posting this chapter. I really have no excuse. Sorry. Again. Got caught up in real life, heh.)

"God _damnit_." John cursed, and Sherlock squeezed his hand tighter. "I'm sorry. I thought this would go better. I mean, I knew she wouldn't be happy…"

"She never is, John." Harry sighed from across the table. "There's nothing you can do. It's why I never told her about Clara." Clara. Ah, Harry's girlfriend. So she had the same problem, then. John stared at his sister, and his expression told Sherlock he hadn't known that before.

"So…you?…You're...Well, in any case, I'm happy for you." John finally got out. 

That's when Sherlock noticed John's mother standing in the doorway, mouth halfway open in shock, eyes slanted with anger. It would have almost been comical under different circumstances.

"Both of you then? Gay? What…what the hell did I do wrong?" Mrs. Watson spat, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the plate in her hand tighter.

John tensed visibly, and Harry scowled. "Oh s _hut up_ , mum. I'm the only gay one, John's bi, I think."

This only further enraged their mother. She snarled and threw the plate. It narrowly missed Harry's head and went crashing into the wall behind John. Sherlock then decided that it would be best if they left.

" _Excuse me_ , Mrs. Watson?" he said with false politeness. "I think we'll be going now. Dinner was lovely, thank you. John will be staying at my house, and Harry, I may be able to convince my brother to allow you to stay as well."

There was nothing John's mother could do besides shout as the three made their way out the door, John throwing a disappointed glance behind them as they left.

"Hey John?" Harry asked when they got in the car Mycroft had sent.

"Yeah?"

"I think approve of your boyfriend."

 <<>>

There was noticeable relief on both John and Harry's face when they came in and saw bloody Mycroft curled up on the couch with Greg. Sherlock supposed it was comforting that obviously no-one in the house was homophobic.

Harry occupied one of the rooms on the second floor, just down the hall from he and John's room.

Or at least that's what it was, now. 

"Let's head back to our room, John." Sherlock said, tasting the words on his tongue.

"Yeah, that'd be nice." he replied. "Y'know, Sherlock, I really appreciate all this. It's…it's really nice of you. Letting us stay here." 

"Don't mention it. No really, don't. People will start thinking I'm nice."

John laughed at that, and rolled his eyes. "Can't have that happen, can we?" he said jokingly, and entered their large room, surveying it with a smile on his face, then turning back to Sherlock. "I can't thank you enough for this, love."

Sherlock couldn't fight the completely idiotic grin that immediately spread across his face.

<<>>

John's mother never did come for he and Harry. Sherlock knew it was for the best, of course, but he could see the disappointment in John's eyes when he realized how little she'd cared about him.

"John…" he started, collapsing on the bed next to him, "You know she wasn't a good, or even normal mother, right? She should have accepted you both."

The blond gave a noncommittal grunt and rolled over to face Sherlock. "I know…I just…" He didn't finish, and instead pulled Sherlock down for a slow kiss, sighing against his lips. Sherlock loved this. Loved _John_. Loved what they had.

"You're wonderful." he murmured, kissing down John's neck.

As he laid there in John's arms, he realized something. He hadn't touched a razor in weeks. Yes, he'd thought about it, almost given in a few times, but there were no new cuts on his arms.

He hadn't restocked his heroin either.

And it was mostly because of John. John had helped him, supported him, made him feel like less of a freak. Sherlock kissed him with more fervor, muttering "thank you" over and over again.

John- his best friend, partner, and first…well, _everything_ -kissed him back. "No need to thank me. I love you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks. (At least for now.)
> 
> I should tell you all that I'm shocked, flattered, and amazed at how many people like this story. Really. Your comments are wonderful, I never expected this kind of feedback.
> 
> In short, writing this story has been incredibly fun, and I'm glad you thought so too.
> 
> The sequel will unfortunately take a while for me to post, because of vacation and other time consuming real life stuff. Sorry. But I'll see you then, guys!
> 
> ALL MY THANKS AND LOVE,  
> xx Lex
> 
> (You may notice the overly soppy and happy ending. Yes it was meant to be that way. I cannot handle any major angst after season 3. So if you wanted angst..................oops.)


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